


Keep Calm and Marry On

by umbrellacam



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fake Marriage, M/M, Spies & Secret Agents, Undercover as Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-15 23:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7243021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umbrellacam/pseuds/umbrellacam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geno had no reason to be suspicious about the first undercover marriage, especially since he was the one who immediately called dibs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep Calm and Marry On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lostlenore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostlenore/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this silliness. ❤️
> 
> Don’t ask me what agency employs all these multinational nerds, I got nothin’. Also, you can hover over the Russian for a translation.

Geno had no reason to be suspicious about the first undercover marriage, especially since he was the one who immediately called dibs.

Director Sullivan gave him a considering look over the briefing papers, and Geno quickly reeled Sid in and slung an arm over his broad shoulders.

“We’re the most in love,” he announced, squeezing Sid earnestly. Sid seemed to swallow air the wrong way and had to smother a cough. He ignored Geno’s quick glance and deliberately relaxed out of his startled-cat stiffness, though, so Geno ploughed ahead. “Honeymoon period every day, barely have to pretend.”

“Bullshit,” Flower said immediately. “Tanger and I are a hundred times more in love than you’ll ever be.”

Considering the assignments on offer for the mission were a) faking a honeymoon to Niagara Falls to bust a human smuggling ring preying on cross-border vacationers, or b) staking out their suspects at said border, Geno wasn’t surprised that Flower was putting up a fight. It was why he’d called dibs, after all. Sid was actually pretty great to be trapped in a car with for days on end, happy to talk for hours about hockey, or code-breaking during World War II, or the strangely addictive follies of people trying to build tiny houses on HGTV. He was also capable of incredible sustained focus and wouldn’t miss a suspiciously displaced leaf while on surveillance. But the fact was, every car that Geno had met in his adult life hated and conspired to torture his long legs, so stakeouts were hellish regardless of the company.

Sullivan flicked his gaze to Tanger, who snaked an arm around Marc’s skinny waist without looking up from where he was clearly texting under the table. “Soul patches do it for me, man,” he deadpanned.

Flower preened, Geno pulled a face, and Sid flipped his briefing folder shut. “We’ll take this one, sir,” he said unexpectedly.

“You will?” Sullivan said, raising an eyebrow. 

“What? Says who?” Flower demanded, straightening with indignation.

“Says Vancouver, 2010,” Sidney shot back, and Flower deflated almost as quickly as he’d puffed up.

“You can’t keep bringing that up when you want your way,” he complained, but he was already sinking down behind the collar of his jacket to sulk.

“Well, if it keeps working,” Sid shrugged, smirking just a bit. One day Geno was going to get the Vancouver story out of him, but for now he was just grateful Sid had decided to use his trump card on what must have seemed like one of Geno’s whims.

“Best!” Geno whispered in his ear, and delighted when said ear went slightly pink.

“I know you hate stakeouts,” Sid murmured, which just made the warm little glow in Geno’s stomach give a treacherous flutter.

By now Tanger had looked up from his phone and both he and Flower were staring at them with extreme French Canadian judgment, so Geno just cleared his throat and looked at the Director expectantly.

“...You're in the Sheraton's cheapest honeymoon suite. Check-in is at noon,” Sullivan said, then jabbed a finger at them pointedly. “Stay focused, boys. Let's nail these people.”

“Got it, sir,” Sid said, nodding sharply, while Geno gave a discreet fist-pump.

He was a little less sure of his sense of victory when they got to the Falls and the reality of the honeymoon suite set in. He eyed the luxurious, suggestive King bed and had a sinking feeling he'd shot himself in the foot.

“You want the left side or the right?” Sid asked, shucking his coat and tossing it over a chair with apparent unconcern. He was already drifting casually to the left of the bed with his suitcase - Geno knew that he’d only asked out of courtesy, and also because he liked having plausible deniability on his superstitions.

“I like right,” Geno said, because he'd been indulging Sid for years and he was in too deep to stop now. Sid gave him a lopsided smile in thanks, like he needed any more positive reinforcement.

After they'd unpacked to Sid's satisfaction, swept the room for bugs, and stashed their guns and other equipment, Sid set up at the little dining table and opened his laptop.

“Okay, so, the plan,” he said. “I was thinking the Falls first thing, then the Cave of Winds. The traffickers are supposed to have men casing people at the casino, so we can hang out there tonight. Then maybe a boat tour tomorrow morning – see if we can get a bead on where they're operating at the docks. What do you think?”

“Sound good to me,” Geno said honestly. Sid always had a plan—several, usually—but he always solicited Geno's input, and had been known to abandon his plans entirely when he felt Geno's were better. 

That hadn't been the case when they'd originally started working together – Sid had listened to suggestions out of politeness, but had been a little too used to steamrolling his partners without much resistance. Geno didn't mind the bossy intensity—obviously—but he wasn’t shy about arguing for his own ideas. 

When Sidney had tried to tell him that he always entered a room second, to watch his partner’s six, Geno had countered implacably, “I’m three years Spetsnaz, you only two years JTF2.” Then, while Sidney was spluttering at him in defense of the Canadian Special Forces, he’d added, “Plus, you much shorter. Less likely get hit if we walk into shootout.” Sid’s mouth had dropped open. Geno poked his tongue out the corner of his grin slyly, and that was it - Sid broke into helpless laughter, pink-cheeked and rocking back on his heels. He still smiled reflexively every time Geno held out a fist for him to bump when Sid walked into a room first.

In the present, Sid said, “Oh, well. Good,” not bothering to hide his pleased expression. “But uh. Is there anything else that you want to do? Maybe for fun?” Geno blinked at him, surprised. Sid tapped at the keyboard, not looking at him, which for Sid was as good as fidgeting. “I mean. It's our honeymoon, right?”

He crooked a grin at Geno, sharing the joke, and Geno's stupid heart thumped before he wrestled it down and laughed. 

“Aquarium has penguins,” he admitted with secretive excitement, because he’d absolutely looked it up beforehand. Sid ribbed him for being predictable, like he was in any position to throw stones, but added it easily to his meticulous itinerary.

It all went pretty smoothly, as Sid’s plans usually did. The Falls were beautiful, and when they got close enough to the spray, little droplets flecked in Sid’s curls like dew. Geno let himself brush them away, because they were supposed to be newlyweds and because he wanted to, and it was sweet to pretend that Sid’s blush was real. 

Sidney certainly didn’t hold himself back from touching, unlike his usual physical reserve in public. He spent the whole night at the casino with his arm tucked into Geno’s, when he wasn’t blowing on Geno’s dice for luck and making his whole body go warm. 

They also picked out two servers, three card dealers, and a couple of security guards that they thought might be part of the smuggling ring, so all in all it was a night well spent. 

The only hiccup came when they were settling into bed.

“Good night,” Sid sighed, scooting close and tucking his head perfectly into the crook of Geno’s shoulder. He slid his hand across Geno’s stomach to rest on his hip, setting off shivers.

“Sid?” Geno whispered, when he could be sure he had his voice under control. “We’re not watched here.”

Sid was silent for a moment too long. “Better safe than sorry,” he said finally, and seemed to have no trouble dropping off to sleep. It took Geno significantly longer, not least because he was a little afraid to move, or breathe, or do anything at all that might make Sid shift away.

When he submitted his report to Jen in Processing afterward, Geno briskly summarized casing the operation, faking being drugged and kidnapped, and the subsequent bust. Then he spent two and a half pages talking about kayaking with Sid on Lake Ontario, and Sid’s offended face at the aquarium when Geno pointed out a penguin with his same bowlegged waddle, and waking up in the mornings with Sid’s face pressed into his neck and Sid’s legs tangled with his. 

Jen sent the report back to him heavily marked up in red, but also drew a little pair of penguins at the top. Jen had his back.

The second fake marriage, more than a month later, didn’t raise any red flags either. Granted, Geno was a little distracted trying to survive Sid lounging on a Miami beach in a speedo. In a true test of willpower, he also had to keep from shooting the chatty, appreciative mark for excessive ogling of someone else’s spouse.

“I’m going to stretch,” Sid’s voice murmured in Geno’s ear, while Sid himself rubbed at stray sunscreen on his nose to obscure the movement of his lips. The mic was cleverly embedded in his Tanger-approved aviators, seeing as how there were literally no other clothes to hide it in. “If he bites, switch out his cell.”

Geno couldn’t respond, both because Sid didn't have an earbud and because he followed through on stretching immediately, and the smooth slide of muscle under sun-warmed skin stole all the words from Geno's brain. All the thoughts, too, except for the urgent desire to touch.

He still managed to lean over to the mark’s lounge chair and deftly switch his cell for their bugged clone, of course. He was a professional, he could multi-task.

He doodled a dreamy picture of Sid’s ass in the speedo in the margins of that report, which he really felt Jen ought to have thanked him for, instead of calling from Processing for a five minute scolding.

For their third excursion as marrieds, Sid was impeccably groomed and dressed to impress in a stunning suit, and hand-fed Geno blini loaded with caviar. They were at a high-stakes dinner in New York trying to subtly sabotage relations between four different Russian mob families at the time, so all that Geno could do was keep his face impassive and dare anyone to comment. His cover—a newly influential boss visiting from Toronto with his trophy husband—must’ve been thorough, because the only challenge to it came from trying to keep his composure when Sidney’s finger slipped innocently into his mouth. 

“Прости, любимый,” Sid murmured, withdrawing, and Geno just barely refrained from snagging his hand and drawing it back to kiss his fingertips. Instead he had to smolder for the rest of the evening, watching Sid deftly slide into conversations to stir up suspicion and distrust while attracting none himself. To soothe his agitation, Geno denied hearing rumors that the Nichushkin boy slept with another boss’s wife with a lofty expression that all but confirmed the rumors' truth, and made quiet interrogations on the possibility that Bobrovsky was an undercover cop. 

He complained about the hand-feeding in his report, because it was _really hot_ and professionalism could only be taken so far. Someday soon he was going to have to just grab Sid and kiss him dizzy, and then he’d probably get in trouble with HR for sexual harassment. He’d sat through their seminars too many times to not know all about it.

His phone rang not five minutes after he sent the report down to Jen’s desk.

“Geno,” Jen said patiently. “I love you, but when I said I’d handle your reports personally, it was because they were giving Potash an ulcer. Not so I could be your agony aunt.”

Personally, Geno thought that was a little unfair. Potash had been dealing with Duper and his reports for nine years - he should be able to handle anything.

“But do you think he _mind_ if I kiss him,” Geno demanded, then paused. “Wait, I’m not on speaker?”

“I know better than that,” Jen muttered. “Listen, just talk to him. Use your words - you’re better at it than you give yourself credit for.”

Easier said than done. Sid had a devastatingly polite poker face, even for a Canadian. Running into it while attempting to navigate a discussion about potentially-unrequited feelings was a daunting prospect. He might prefer to get shot at, honestly. Not to mention the fallout for their partnership if it went badly. He could handle mooning like an idiot if it meant Sid stayed with him for the foreseeable future - it had been working out pretty well so far.

“And get your report done properly or I’ll have Kavsar banned from delivering to HQ,” Jen added.

Threatening his supply of steamed dumplings was a low move, but Geno respected Jen’s ruthlessness.

He didn’t bring it up with Sid, though. 

They went out on another undercover marriage, which barely even counted because the mission went south almost immediately. Sid was recognized by the top notch security team who had their contact under surveillance, and they couldn’t pull out before they were cornered.

Geno was disappointed - maybe for the wrong reasons, considering they were being shot at in the fake used sporting goods store their aliases supposedly co-owned. But the original plan had included a data drop-off at a crowded hockey game, and he’d been looking forward to it and shit-talking Sid for days in anticipation. He didn’t actually like the Flyers, of course—too much orange, not enough Russians—but Sidney was a die-hard Canadiens fan, and goading him into defending Carey Price’s goaltending virtue always left him bright-eyed and attractively flushed with outrage.

He ended up with Sidney bright-eyed and attractively flushed with adrenaline instead, so it wasn’t _too_ bad of a trade off. 

“This is a total intelligence failure,” Sid argued, ducking behind a stack of goalie pads as someone with ginger hair fired in from the front door. “Giroux was supposed to be out of town - anyone but him and there’s no way we would’ve been blown. I had a different jaw back then, for fuck’s sake!”

“Always these things happen in Philly,” Geno complained, texting HBK at their standby location to extract the asset while Giroux’s security was busy yelling at them to surrender. He was honestly surprised Sid had agreed to any mission in his most-hated city, Habs game or no.

“I _know_ , it’s the worst,” Sid muttered. His ears were red, though, and he was suspiciously preoccupied with reloading a gun that he could’ve taken apart and put back together blindfolded. “I didn’t want to come, but Horny asked if we could trade. His anniversary is this week.”

Hmmm. “What he take from us instead?” Geno asked, narrowing his eyes.

“That drug sting in Columbus,” Sid said, lobbing a football toward the back door experimentally. It was sniped in the air and deflated with a sad sound on landing. So that exit was covered.

“Oh,” Geno said, partly mollified. Philly for Columbus was almost an equal exchange. He cocked his gun around the folded-up ping pong table he was braced against and shot at Giroux anyway, for ruining their hockey date.

“Okay, I have a plan,” Sid said, and fired several rapid shots at the flimsy wire cage by the entrance holding a veritable mountain of old volleyballs, soccer balls, and basketballs. It collapsed and spilled a bouncing landslide all over the shouting goons, and they booked it out the hidden exit in the basement. 

“ _Someone_ owe us hockey tickets,” Geno grumped when they dragged themselves back to headquarters.

“There’s a militia group tries to buy up land fifty miles west of Phoenix,” Horny said helpfully, tilting his chair back in welcome. “How’s a Coyotes game sound?”

Terrible, but if it meant Geno still got his not-date with Sid, he’d take it. 

“I’m gonna go talk to Intelligence about this screw-up,” Sid said ominously, and stalked out of the room with a purpose. He was in a definite mood; someone was about to be Lectured with a capital L. Geno was betting on Lovejoy. 

As soon as Sid was gone, Geno turned straight to Horny. He was a top agent with first-rate instincts, and he was starting to get the feeling that their run of undercover marriages had gone a little bit past an accident or even karmic comeuppance for his past misdeeds. 

“So. I should say happy anniversary?” he asked casually. Horny’s face lit up.

“Yeah, thanks!” he said, which his accent shifted into something more like ‘fanks’. “Three years, I can barely believe it.” 

So the anniversary was for real, at least. Geno drummed his fingers on his desk, then fished, “You going somewhere special? Out of town?” 

“Sweden,” Horny confirmed, grinning sheepishly. “We leave tomorrow morning. I know, not exotic, but we hardly get home to see family these days. Thank Sid for switching with me again, hey?”

“For sure,” Geno said, obscurely disappointed. Sid’s story held up - of course it did. Maybe his instincts had just been stupid wishful thinking.

“I know you guys’ve been doing a lot of these married things lately, so I wasn’t gonna ask,” Horny continued, “but it was great of him to offer.” 

Geno blinked, and all of a sudden his heart was racing. “Sid offered…?” he managed, leaning forward.

“Oh yeah,” Horny said, rolling his chair back and forth, oblivious. “I was about to book mine's and Kuni’s flights to Philly, then Sid dropped by and said you two could handle it. What, he didn’t ask you?” 

*****

Geno didn’t catch the elevator doors in time, mind and body both off-kilter, so Sid had to jog and stick an arm out to slide through at the last second. 

“It was Lovejoy,” he confirmed, still visibly annoyed. “He missed Giroux flying back in. I read him the riot act, so he should be triple checking his background report next time.”

“Next time?” Geno echoed. The cloud of furious thought he’d been in slowly settled into resolve. 

“If he _gets_ a next time,” Sid said darkly. “I’ve half a mind to…”

He trailed off, brows drawing together when Geno hit the elevator’s emergency stop. “G?” 

Geno ignored him and methodically punched in the code to disable the internal cameras. When he turned around, Sid looked a little concerned, but not alarmed. It wasn’t the first time they’d had a private chat by way of elevator blackout, but he usually had a better idea why they were happening.

Geno was more than happy to clear that up for him.

“Next time we go out to be fake married?” he asked, far more mildly than he felt. “Seem like all we do anymore, huh?” 

Sidney briefly went still, eyes widening. He’d always had a good recovery time, though - Geno wouldn’t have known the puzzled look he put on was a mask if he hadn’t been staring at Sid’s expressive face for years. “Really? Huh. I didn’t realize—”

“Niagara,” Geno interrupted, ticking off on his fingers. “Miami. New York. Philadelphia.” He raised his eyebrows, watching Sid artfully avoid eye contact. He was usually better about that - it was always the first tell when he was feeling uncomfortable, so he’d long since learned to cultivate a direct gaze. 

“Uh. Yeah, I guess we’ve been a little pigeon-holed lately,” Sid hedged. 

“Horny says thank you,” Geno told him, crossing his arms. “Very nice to volunteer us for switch.” 

“...Um,” Sid said. After a moment he ran a hand through his hair and over his face, hiding his expression. His ears were bright red, though, Geno noted with satisfaction. It was the least he deserved for the speedo, honestly. 

“I,” Sid started, then broke off, clearing his throat. He paused for a moment, then squared his shoulders and looked up, face set. It was his ‘straight-backed officer faces the firing squad’ look, and Geno loved it. When he continued, his voice was carefully even. “I overstepped, I’m sorry. If you want me to talk to Sullivan, if you want a different assignment - ” and enough was enough. 

“No,” Geno said deliberately. “I don’t want.”

Sid’s eyes flickered in startlement, then widened when Geno stepped closer, angling him back against the wall. He didn’t really think Sid would want to duck away, but it was better not to take chances. 

“I want to know your plan,” he said, lifting a hand and tracing his fingers idly down the side of Sid’s throat. Sid sucked in a sharp breath, the tension in his frame suddenly gaining a different edge. “You always have one, yes? Gonna just keep being married every way possible, drive me crazy?”

Sid bit his lip, which was fascinating under any circumstances, but even more so when he was looking up through his lashes and slowly turning pink. 

“It wasn’t on purpose at first,” he admitted, voice low. “I was just kind of...pretending. That it was real. That you wanted me.” 

Geno let out a strangled laugh and tipped forward, slumping until his forehead rested on Sid’s shoulder. They were both stupid, stupid, stupid. How did they ever make it through agent training? How were they still _alive?_

“Then I thought - I thought maybe you were really looking,” Sid said haltingly, raising a tentative hand to curl his fingers in the nape of Geno’s neck. “So I thought I could try and find out. If you were.” 

“You are the blindest fool in the whole world,” Geno told Sid’s shoulder in fervent Russian. He considered for a moment, then added in English, “Except for maybe me.” 

Then he pulled back, cupped his hands around Sid’s face, and kissed him dizzy. Sidney moaned high in his throat and opened his mouth, clutching at Geno’s back, and Geno lost several minutes exploring the hot slide of Sid’s tongue and the press of their bodies together.

“It worked though,” Sid gasped later as Geno bit his ear, somehow managing to sound triumphant when just minutes ago he’d been sure that his idiotic scheme had gone down in flames. 

“My plan better,” Geno muttered, popping the button of Sid's pants and sliding a hand inside his waistband. 

“Yeah, okay,” Sid agreed, breathless. “That’s fair.” 

*****

Much later, after attempting to smooth out their sweaty hair and tug their rumpled suits into some semblance of order (and getting distracted several times by wandering hands and laughter in the process), they brought the elevator back online and stumbled out stealthily - straight into Flower.

“You know,” he said, tapping his foot rapidly. “When we told you to get a room all those times, an elevator in HQ is _not_ what we meant.”

“Go home, Flower,” Geno told him with disheveled dignity, bundling a tomato-red Sidney under his arm.

“Take a shower!” Flower yelled after them as they made their escape. “That shit's not sanitary!”


End file.
